


Trains and Planes and Flying Machines

by foolofatook001



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Angst (Kind of), Fluff, Gen, These men were best friends once upon a time and it makes me sad, but i wrote this anyway, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22647553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolofatook001/pseuds/foolofatook001
Summary: In which a young trio of troublemakers get into mischief and have a grand old time. Will, Mark, and Damien as children, before the darkness of the house takes over.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Trains and Planes and Flying Machines

“You can’t catch me!” The childish shout rang out over the gardens, and inwardly, Helena sighed. The boys were at it again. Sure enough, the three of them came tearing around the corner, Mark in the lead, their feet pounding on the stone path. They drew up suddenly when they saw her, her hands on her hips.

“And what are you boys doing?” she asked, directing the question mostly to her son, but it was Damien, the oldest and somewhat responsible one, who spoke up.

“We were having a race,” he explained.

“I was winning,” Will - whose trouser knees were grass-stained and dirty - put in.

“You were not!” Mark, Helena’s son, protested instantly.

“Was too!” Will shot back.

“No!”

“Yeah!”

Damien shifted from foot to foot as an amused smile made its way across Mrs. Iplier’s face. “Mark,” she said finally, in a tone that brooked no argument, and the dispute ended immediately.

“I  _ was _ winning, Mother,” Mark mumbled, and Will opened his mouth as if to renew the argument again, but one quelling look from Helena and an elbow in the ribs from Damien convinced him otherwise.

“Please don’t go tearing through the flowerbeds,” Helena said, trying to keep a straight face as the boys attempted to assume contrite expressions. “George has just finished redoing them for the party tomorrow evening.”

The boys exchanged glances.

“The party that you will  _ not _ be attending, as it is for Mr. Iplier’s business,” Helena added sternly. “You will be upstairs in the house -  _ if _ your parents let you come over,” she added to Will and Damien. The three partners-in-crime looked disappointed. 

“Just - try not to destroy anything else,” Helena said, her small smile finally defeating her self-control.

“Yes, Mother,” the three boys chorused, and Helena’s face softened. She would be lying if she said it didn’t warm her heart to hear that Will and Damien considered her a second mother - Heaven knew she thought of them as extra sons.

The three boys made their way back to the house, jostling each other playfully. Helena caught part of their conversation as she followed a little ways behind - they were arguing over who had really won the race again.

Helena smiled at her boys fondly.

-0-

“I think we could do it,” Will declared.

“I don’t know,” Damien said dubiously.

“We’re gonna do it,” Mark said, decisively. “We just can’t let Mother or Father catch us.”

“It’s just to see what goes on at these sort of things,” Will wheedled, turning to Damien. “It’ll be an adventure!”

“All right, let’s do it,” Damien agreed with a grin, and his two friends pumped their fists in victory.

-0-

“We’ve got to be real quiet,” Will whispered, and Mark nodded in agreement. The three boys were peering through the railing of the landing that overlooked the front entrance, gazing down at all the guests that were arriving. Both Damien and Will’s parents had let them come along, on the condition that they stayed upstairs and out of sight. Celine, Damien’s little sister and sometime member of their group, had been left at home with the nanny.

The guests were all dressed in their finest clothes. Jewels sparkled on wrists, ears, and throats. Alcohol glittered in crystal glasses clutched in elegant hands. Smiles flashed, and the sounds of idle chatter and occasional laughter filled the house. Eventually the guests had all arrived, and the party began to spill out into the gardens and patios outside the house; it was a fine summer night. 

Damien, Mark, and Will exchanged a look, then began creeping toward the stairs. They were careful not to make a sound. The main draw was the food - there were dozens of platters of delicious dishes laid out on the table in the dining room. This was the boys’ first target. They were in and out in a flash, each grabbing a handful of something to snack on before the attending waiter could do much more than stutter. Mark led the way to one of the more secluded spots on the grounds, Damien and Will on his heels. They collapsed, breathless, behind a wall of hedges, giggling at their success. Each boy presented his goods. Mark had got two fistfuls of small, wrapped chocolates, which he spilled out onto the ground with a smug smile. Will had grabbed some kind of pastry that was big enough to split between the three of them. Damien had somehow managed to snag an  _ entire plate _ of candied fruit - the other two were amazed that he’d been able to run all the way from the dining room and not lose a single piece. They set to their ill-gotten feast, eating most of Will’s pastry, which turned out to be a meat pie, and about half of Damien’s fruit, with a couple of Mark’s chocolates each tossed in for good measure. The rest they stowed in the hollow of the tree beside the hedges, to be recovered later. Mark sat back on his heels, regarding Will and Damien. “What should we do next?”

Will thought for a moment. Damien did the same. Then Will’s eyes lit up. “We could go to the roof and spy on the people!”

“Yes!” Mark agreed instantly, a little disappointed that he hadn’t thought of that himself. 

“We have to be spies the whole way,” Damien said, turning up his shirt collar as if to disguise his face. The other two boys did the same, and carefully crept around the wall of hedges, sticking to the shadows. They darted from cover to cover, pressing hands over their mouths to stifle their laughter. They managed to stay out of sight, and made it to the spiral staircase that led to the observation deck at the top of the tower without being caught. Mark pulled out the binoculars that he kept at the bottom of the stairs and held them in his hand as they climbed. Once they reached the top, they all leaned over the side and took turns with the binoculars, using them to watch the various guests. 

“That one’s a British spy,” Damien said, pointing to a blonde man in a black suit and bow tie. “He’s on the way to a ren-dez-vous with - with - ”

“With  _ her _ ,” Mark said, picking up the thread and pointing to a short, brown-haired woman in a deep purple dress who was standing alone near the edge of the patio. “There’s a - a  _ French _ spy here as well that they’re trying to stop, because he’s stolen the secret British war plans - ”

“The French spy! He’s walking toward them!” Will, who had the binoculars, interrupted excitedly, pointing to a man with slicked-back brown hair and a deep red bow tie walking toward the woman. 

“Let me see!” Mark and Damien said in unison, each reaching for the binoculars. There was a brief scuffle, from which Mark emerged victorious; he peered down on the party.

“I lost sight of the lady,” he reported. 

“She saw the French spy coming,” Damien suggested enthusiastically.

“And had to get out of sight quick!” Will added.

“The British spy is keeping his cool,” said Mark, passing the binoculars to Damien.

“Well, of course - he’s a  _ spy _ ,” Damien said, in that “isn’t-that-obvious” tone he liked to adopt, usually when he was making a point of being smarter than Mark and Will due to his being a whole year older than they were. “Wait! Someone’s looking up at us! Get down!”

The three boys fell to their knees, ducking down behind the wall. Damien waited a moment, then used the binoculars to peek over the edge. “He’s moved on,” he reported, relieved, and passed the binoculars over to Will. “See the French spy?”

“He’s talking to your mother, Mark,” Will said, passing the binoculars again. 

“He’s moving on now,” Mark said. The boys were so focused on watching the “French spy” that they didn’t hear Gerald the butler until he was right behind them.

“I think it is high time you were in bed, young masters,” he said, making the three of them start guiltily and turn around. Damien sighed and led the way down the stairs. Gerald brought up the rear, and escorted the boys back inside the house, keeping discreetly to the edges of the party. Mrs. Iplier caught sight of them as they were trudging back to Mark’s bedroom and gave them a disapproving glance over the shoulder of one of the guests. 

“Please find other ways of amusing yourselves,” Gerald the butler admonished as he closed the door of Mark’s bedroom, leaving the boys alone. 

Mark flopped down on his bed and sighed. “I can’t believe we got caught.”

“We still have that stash of chocolates you got, though, Mark,” Damien pointed out. “It should keep.”

Mark brightened considerably at this. “True!”

“One of us should have been watching the stairs,” Will grumbled. “How are we supposed to keep an eye on the French spy now?”

No one had a good answer for this, and the boys were quiet for a moment.

“Let’s play a game!” Will said, standing up and shifting restlessly from foot to foot. 

“We could play a game of Dare,” Mark suggested, sitting up on the bed.

“We have to stay in the room,” Damien pointed out. “We won’t be able to do any good dares.”

“Right,” Will and Mark chorused, despondently. 

“I have my train set,” Mark said after a little while. So the boys created serpentine train routes that took passengers and cargo to every corner of Mark’s room until their eyes grew heavy.

When Gerald stopped to check in on them as the guests were leaving, he couldn’t help the fond smile that crossed his face. The three boys had all fallen asleep leaning back against Mark’s bed, seated on the floor. Toy train tracks spiraled out from where they sat, going to all parts of the room. Both Mark and Will had slumped over onto Damien’s shoulders; he sat in the middle, his head tilted back and his mouth slightly open. Will still had a toy train engine clutched in his hand. Gerald shook his head slightly and entered the room, careful to keep his steps light. He pulled the blanket off of Mark’s bed and tucked it around the boys. Then he crept out of the room, turning out the light before he shut the door.

-0-

The memory of that long-ago party came to Will as he stood at the entrance to Mark’s mansion, hesitating before he rang the bell. He felt a pang. He missed his friends and their former carefree innocence. It had all been ruined now - partly by his own choices. Now he hadn’t spoken to Mark in years, and he and Damien hadn’t been quite the same - still close, of course, but he knew Mark’s absence weighed on his old friend. 

The District Attorney arrived and walked in the door. Will followed, taking a deep breath as he did. 

No going back now.


End file.
